


What The Future Brings

by TheAwkwardEnthusiast



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Physical Trauma, Psychological Trauma, Sparkling Deaths, Sparklings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:21:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25124590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAwkwardEnthusiast/pseuds/TheAwkwardEnthusiast
Summary: Megatron was a mech who helped Soundwave define the meaning behind the concept of the future.Over the course of the war, Megatron eventually forgot. But Soundwave continued to remember.
Relationships: Jazz/Soundwave, Megatron & Soundwave, implied Megatron/Starscream
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68
Collections: Soundwave Week 2020





	What The Future Brings

Soundwave knew very little of creations.

He’d heard rumors during his tenure under Senator Ratbat, whispers of tiny creatures that were created from the union of two sparks and borne out of a mech’s frame like a pale parody of the organic breeding process.

Ratbat and his guests would talk with keen interest about the concept during parties, their optics full of morbid wonder as they giggled about tiny mechs over their cubes of expensive high grade. Once or twice, they’d bring in bundles of mesh cloths and show it around but Soundwave had never been able to catch a glimpse of what lay inside.

They were something that brought the high castes great entertainment but when the topic came about during Senate hearings, particularly ones involving members of the lower castes, their attitudes completely changed.

No longer were creations something to be admired and celebrated. Instead, they were abominations and those mechs that had celebrated the tiny creatures, were the very same ones to sign bills that authorized the sterilization and death of carriers and creations alike.

When Soundwave had descended into the world of pitfighting and aligned himself with Megatron, he was finally able to get acquainted with these so-called wonders of biology and technology.

They were common members of the audiences during fights and some even loitered around the hallways of the barracks, all toothy grins and wide round optics full of admiration for the lumbering warriors around them.

For the most part, they were like any other mech but their lack of knowledge and physical fragility made them susceptible to early deaths and more than once, Soundwave had been there to help a grief-stricken mech bury the tiny remains of a loved one. 

Megatron had said they were the future once. Unlike his peers in the Pits who looked at the tiny creatures with disdain, Megatron had gazed upon them with pride. When they asked questions, he answered. When they begged to be taught how to hold a sword or wield an axe, he was the one who took time out of his busy schedule to teach them.

And he remembered their names. All of them, even those of the sickly ones who never dared venture further than the outskirts of the arena. Like he did his peers, he celebrated their successes, lamented their failures and mourned their deaths.

“Do you have creations?” Megatron had asked him once, as they stood over the tiny makeshift grave of a youngling that had died of cybercosis. The little mech’s creators had both perished orns before and he’d followed not long after.

Soundwave was a bit taken back by the statement. After all, there were no secrets between them. He imagined it was a formality on the gladiator’s behalf.

“Negative.”

“A pity,” Megatron groused. “Any bot borne of your Spark would make a fine warrior.”

“Rumble, Frenzy. Similar to creations.” Soundwave supplied. And it was true. Though the symbionts he housed were adult mechs, they depended on him for their survival.

Megatron’s optics darkened slightly at the analogy and Soundwave tensed, anticipating a harsh rebuttal but all Megatron did was exvent harshly. “You’re a good mech,” Megatron murmured after a few moments of silence. “But it is obvious that you still have so much to learn.”

That was the last time Megatron had asked him such questions. Though if Soundwave were honest, he imagined it had more to do with the arrival of a particular Seeker rather than a genuine lack of disinterest.

Starscream took up all of Megatron’s time from then on, smiling that devilish smirk of his and flicking those large wings in displays that Soundwave knew were explicitly reserved for courting mates. Megatron, of course, had been oblivious to the most obvious of signs but still he kept the Seeker by his side as the revolution gained momentum.

He saw value in Starscream, in the cunning of his wit and the versatility of his charm. Just like he’d seen it in Soundwave.

Together, all three of them rose to the surface, frames marred with dirt and the blood of their fallen comrades but with optics shining full of perseverance. They became revolutionaries. They inspired change, gave courage to those who lacked it and brought about an era that promised the freedom of all sentient beings.

Soundwave was a mech of perspective. Unlike other mechs who lost themselves to the moment, he remained on the periphery and kept a watchful optic and everything. So naturally, he was quick to notice that the number of younglings had all but disappeared.

Maybe one or two remained but they were hardly ever present, confined to barracks and forbidden to roam the halls without someone watching over them. Very rarely did creators find anyone willing to look after a wayward youngling, most of the warriors comprising the Decepticon ranks finding such a duty beneath them.

Megatron had once beaten a mech half to death when he’d smacked a youngling that dropped a cube of Energon and for a while, the respect for creations remained high on the Decepticon tenet.

But time had the potential to change all mechs, even the most stoic of them all. And the time eventually came when even Megatron forgot about the future of the Cybertronian race.

\---

“He’s gonna get himself killed,” Rumble said over the rim of his cube, visor fixated on the youngling standing in front of the array of practice weapons. Onyx was his name, Soundwave recalled, or at least that’s what everyone called him.

Soundwave had been keeping tabs on him since the moment both of his creators had been killed in an Autobot raid. It was no coincidence he’d asked Rumble to share a cube of fuel in the empty sparring chambers.

His black armor was so dusty it almost looked grey in the bright lighting and it was so thin Soundwave doubted it could had withstood the power of the washrack solvent sprays.

“Onyx, needs to learn combat skills.” Soundwave replied. “Practice, will prove beneficial.”

Rumble scoffed. But upon seeing that Soundwave didn’t share his amusement, he put his cube down and fixed the host mech with a stern glare. “You’re joking, right?”

“Negative.” He hesitated, hating what he was about to say. “Megatron, listed Onyx as combat active. Onyx is now officially listed as Decepticon soldier."

Silence followed his words and a quick cursory glance to the symbiont next to him showed that Rumble was staring at the youngling with something akin to pity in his optics. But then he rebooted his visor and suddenly rage was all that was reflected there.

“He can’t do that,” Rumble hissed, his grip on the cube tightening. “He hasn’t even had his adult frame upgrade yet.”

Morally, Soundwave knew that Megatron was completely wrong. Sending such a weak mech into the fray would be a complete waste of life and resources. But as supreme commander of the entire Decepticon army, he had every single right.

Onyx eventually chose a double-sided axe and though he held it a bit precariously, there was a glint of determination in his optics as he wandered onto the training platform and began to swing it around.

Every movement was incorrect, bearing too much power and not enough coordination so he ended up sprawled on the floor after the first couple of swings. But he rose to his feet and did it again. And again and again.

An admirable sense of perseverance but Soundwave knew it would get him nowhere. He rose to his feet, intent on making his way over to correct him but Rumble apparently had the same idea and beat him to it.

Rumble only reached up to Onyx’s waist but Onyx was well acquainted with the Decepticon hierarchy to know that the symbiont was deserving of respect. He was quick to straighten his back and duck his helm, axe hanging by his side.

Unlike other mechs, Rumble wasn’t one who took to kindly to formalities and he offered a sympathetic smile before gently prying the axe from the youngling’s fingers. The symbiont swung it around like it was nothing but he put it back on the weapon’s rack and selected a small vibroblade instead.

“We’re small,” Rumble said, amusement flickering in his visor. “But that ain’t necessarily a bad thing. There’s many ways to make an enemy fall other than bashing them over the head.” He stepped back, dipping down into a fighting stance. The blade was held sideways in one hand and he twirled it once for theatrical flair.

Onyx took a step back, awe written across his face.

“Keep yourself low near the ground. Most Autobots are big and clumsy and those who are small tend to be pretty slow too so aim for the ankle joints.” Rumble proceeded to demonstrate, carefully showing Onyx how to move the blade and where to aim it on his own frame. “Straight through the fuel lines and struts if you can. Make them bleed.”

The youngling nodded determinedly and after a few more demos, he grew the confidence to practice it himself.

Onyx fumbled a few times but soon caught the hang of it and Soundwave found it in himself to be impressed. He’d always known younglings were quick learners but to see the process in action was certainly something to behold.

Glimpses of the youngling’s future flashed before Soundwave’s optics, of the kind of build and frame and face he’d bear if he survived. He’d be proud and strong, capable of defending the less fortunate.

A true Decepticon.

Rumble seemed to have the same train of thought because he turned to look at Soundwave with a proud grin on his face.

Soundwave wished he could have captured the moment. But he’d foolishly allowed himself to believe that there would be a next time.

Onyx was killed three orns after being sent into battle. He’d killed two Autobots beforehand, though and from the surveillance Soundwave had conducted on the skirmish, Onyx had died with a satisfied smile on his face.

No one had mourned him and there was no mention of his name as his bunk was cleared for use by new recruits. But Soundwave remembered his name as did Rumble. They recited his name every orn before recharging, keeping the name so deeply etched into their Sparks so that when their memory files started to become blurry, a part of Onyx still lived on.

\---

Within eons, the war took a rather grotesque turn and as resources dwindled, both factions grew decidedly more ruthless.

The Autobots abandoned their sense of honor and where once prisoners of war had been interrogated then released with only a missing optic or a broken limb, they were now found completely mutilated.

Megatron had demanded Soundwave conduct an investigation to see what caused such a turn in tactics and he’d been quick to comply. He'd snuck into the heart of enemy territory, Iacon, with Ravage at his side. Together, the two of them had searched for answers and they'd found it in the form of a small black and white mech who had a dazzling smile and a visor that sparkled like a Praxian helix crystal.

Jazz.

He bore marks of the olden days and though his energy was youthful, Soundwave could see the weight of heavy history in the line of his slumping shoulders and hanging helm whenever he found stood alone.

Soundwave found himself fascinated by the mech, all things considered. There was an intelligence to him that rivaled Soundwave’s own particular brand and unlike most his comrades, there was an empathy that had yet to be tarnished by the war. Even when he was soaked to the strut in spilled Energon, there was remorse in that visor of his which he subtly hid behind forced smiles and hummed ballads.

But Soundwave could not allow himself to fall for the mech’s charms. This was the one mutilating his comrades, who tore into them as if they were mechanimals then left their remains to rust on forgotten battlefields.

He’d sided with mechs who killed younglings. With the ones who had taken Onyx away before his time.

When Soundwave reported his findings back to Megatron, the warlord grew decidedly pleased and bombarded Soundwave with questions. Was he a new recruit? How deep did his loyalty run? What else had he done besides simple mutilations?

Soundwave disliked the glimmer in Megatron’s optics. They were too bright, shining with a possessiveness that he’d never showed over anyone other than Starscream. His loyalty coding told him to tell the truth but a smaller, deeper part of Soundwave wouldn’t allow it.

The internal battle waged for mere seconds, the equivalent of a pause between Megatron’s questions. Soundwave dipped his helm.

“Jazz, completely loyal to the Autobot cause. Intents for possible recruitment, would ultimately fail.”

Megatron grimaced at the words but he believed Soundwave in the end. After all, there were no secrets between them.

Except for one.

\---

To call the war uneventful would be to sully the memory of every bot that had died in the name of their respective causes. But death and fear had become so commonplace that Soundwave had been one of the unfortunate many that’d found themselves numbed to it all.

He’d grown accustomed to the cacophony of chaos so when the end of the war came, the silence was deafening. He’d almost given into the despair it brought, lost himself to it.

And he would have if not for the music.

If not for Jazz.

The Autobot had survived the war, just like Soundwave had expected him to and while his comrades suffered with the weight of the burdens they bared on their shoulders, Jazz walked with his helm held high and his visor shining bright.

Soundwave couldn’t exactly recall what had brought them together, perhaps it was the remnants of that charm the telepath had been so enamored by during their first encounters. Or perhaps Soundwave had finally allowed himself to admit that he’d always found those broad shoulders and slim narrow waist attractive.

Whatever the reasons, Soundwave had followed and Jazz had received.

It was a couple eons into their courtship that Soundwave had allowed himself to think about creations again. His Spark twisted at the unwelcome memories that tore through his processor, of the younglings Ratbat and his peers had stolen for their amusement, the tiny bots in the Pits, and Onyx.

He remembered the day Megatron had asked him if he’d ever had creations and the empty feeling that had settled in his vitals when he’d responded negatively. Carefully, he disentangled his arm from Jazz’s sleeping form and rest a hand over his ventrum, fingers softly massaging the warm protoform.

It was where his gestation chamber would be...if Ratbat hadn’t removed it the second Soundwave had been placed under his control. That was one secret that Megatron had never known about, the one that had kept Soundwave from truly following him into oblivion.

Jazz shifted beside him, sighing softly. “You okay?”

Soundwave’s hand fell to his side. “Affirmative.”

“Really?”

A pause. Then it was Soundwave’s turn to sigh. “No.”

Jazz turned to face him, repositioning himself so that his helm rest over Soundwave’s docking chamber. “What’s wrong?”

Learning long ago that Jazz would always find a way to wring the truth out of him, Soundwave knew it was best to be honest. “Soundwave, wishes for creations.”

Immediately, Jazz went still beneath his touch and Soundwave tensed, anticipating rejection. But then the berth began to shake and it took the telepath a moment to realize that Jazz was laughing. The former saboteur patted his chest affectionately when Soundwave tried to move away, shaking his helm.

“No,” he said, lips pulled into one of those dazzling smiles that took Soundwave’s breath away. “That’s actually good. Because I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something...”

\---

In an instant, Soundwave’s whole world had shattered. Every instant of pain, fear and regret that he’d carried with him. It all vanished.

But there was a tiny beacon of hope in the darkness and it lay in the form of the tiny sparkling nestled in the palms of his hands.

She was tiny, protoform so soft and malleable that even the tiniest bit of pressure felt like it could crush her. Even as Jazz lay deep in recharge on a cot beside him, frame fresh with welds from the emergence process, all Soundwave could focus on was their creation.

His creation.

It almost seemed surreal but every tiny twitch and murmur of static from the little bot kept him grounded and reminded him that it was all very real.

The door to the small medical room opened up and one of the Spark specialists that had performed the emergence walked inside, folded mesh blankets in hand. He smiled warmly. “I’ve brought some mesh blankets to keep the little one warm.”

Soundwave carefully adjusted his grip on the tiny sparkling to one hand and took the blankets with the other. “Thank you,” he breathed, hoping that he sounded as sincere as he felt. Taking a seat in the chair beside the cot, he proceeded to wrap the soft textile around the tiny bot and smiled behind his faceplate when a small coo escaped her.

“She looks so much like you,” the specialist said. “Have you thought of a designation yet?”

One of Soundwave’s thumbs carefully caressed the tiny sparkling’s cheek, Spark warming when she leaned into the contact. “Affirmative.”

“Mind if I ask what it is? There’s some paperwork I want to get started for you.”

Soundwave tentatively glanced over at Jazz and he wished his conjunx was awake to share the moment with him. But he knew well enough that Jazz trusted him to do whatever came next. So when he turned his attention back to the specialist, there was no hesitation when he spoke.

“Aura.”


End file.
